


Beards

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 23:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21400720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: A fireside snippet.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 6
Kudos: 141





	Beards

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They don’t dare stop for longer than they need, but Gimli requires rest, and even Aragorn does at times. They stop late in the evening, vowing to take only a little while—just enough to fall asleep and be stirred awake again. Legolas keeps watch, seated on a log and tending to the fire. It crackles, warm and pleasant, something that usually reminds him of home, when his people would hold small parties in the woods. This quest, and this particular stretch of it, has been too stressful for that. Even he can’t shake his worry. Aragorn sits next to him, staring into the flames with the same forlorn sense of weariness. Legolas reminds him, “You should rest, my friend.”

Aragorn sighs. His shoulders look heavy. He strokes the dark hairs on his chin, clearly lost in thought. For a moment, Legolas gets caught in that little detail—Aragorn’s soft fingertips rifling through the coarse hairs on his face. It’s always been a strange thing to Legolas, the concept of facial hair, even more so on dwarves. Gimli has entirely too much of it; while Legolas enjoys his friend just as he is, it’s not something Legolas would want to have himself. Nor touch. But Aragorn’s slight stubble, grown longer in this everlasting sprint of theirs, is a gentler entry. Legolas finds himself reaching across the space, his hand landing against Aragorn’s cheek. 

Aragorn turns to look at him. Aragorn makes no move to break the contact, and Legolas lets his touch linger, trailing slowly down the jut of Aragorn’s strong jaw to graze every short hair he can. It’s rough, slightly scratchy, scintillating, in a way—the touch tingles. Legolas presses his thumb against the cleft of Aragorn’s chin and feels the shallow spikes poke against his finger pad. Aragorn dons a subtle smile and asks, “Are you thinking of growing one?”

Legolas laughs. His voice stays low, too quiet to wake Gimli. As though he ever could, he teases back, “I am not sure.” He lowers his hand into his lap, satisfied to know more of Aragorn than he did before.

Aragorn lifts his hand and strokes Legolas’ smooth chin, murmuring, “So _soft_.”

“Did you expect otherwise?” Legolas muses. He knows that sometimes it can be difficult for Men to understand other races, but not his Aragorn. Aragorn understands elves every bit as much as Men. 

He hums, “You are perfect as you are.” Then he closes the distance, and Legolas smiles into the kiss.


End file.
